


strawberry swing

by perennial



Series: Prairie Tales [5]
Category: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Laura Ingalls meets Oklahoma! meets Austen, Meryton is always down to party, Old West, farmers and ranchers and cowboys oh my!, frontier living, sisters who are friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2019-10-14 20:46:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17515619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perennial/pseuds/perennial
Summary: It is a truth universally acknowledged that the farmer and the rancher should be friends, even if one of them is a proud, unpleasant sort of man.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> now the sky could be blue, i don't mind, without you it's a waste of time  
>  sky could be blue, could be gray, without you i'm just miles away  
>  [✷](https://youtu.be/isH1yy8I_dc)

One of these days Ohio will get so hot it'll set itself on fire but Elizabeth will be long gone before _that_ happens. Least, that's what she tells Jane while they sit shelling peas in the shade of the back porch.

Jane says, "I know," sweet as can be, the way she always does. Elizabeth wishes she could sound a little more like she believes it.

Her sister stands, apron full of green, and rests her hand lightly on the top of Elizabeth's head. "It's nearly autumn," she says. It's meant to be a consolation, but winter follows so close to autumn it's like a kick in the face, and winter's no better than summer around here. Miserable, both of them.

There are other days, though – when the warm wind comes rushing through the wheat and the sky is the color of asters and the clouds are sun-strained – and the wind tugs at Elizabeth's dress and her billowing pinafore and the ribbon that can't keep hold of all her hair, and she feels almost weightless. As though if she were to only push off the ground she would be carried up into the arms of the four winds. And then what story might she end up in?

-

They have a new neighbor. There are wagons and lumber piles and workers on the stake that runs alongside theirs to the north. The Bennet family has been aware of movement in that direction for a few weeks, but this is the first evidence of intended permanence.

"Does he gotta be so _close?_ " says Mary, peering through her telescoping glass at the horizon. Lyddie snatches it from her. The other sisters squint and shade their eyes.

"There's plenty of prairie to go around," says Jane.

"Now, if he had a family that'd be one thing," says their father through the open kitchen window. "Then he could bring us some company on long dull summer evenings." He shakes his head dubiously. "What are we supposed to do with a bachelor?"

-

There is a common thread running through the current of conversation at the church social, and they are the words _C. Bingley_ and _F. Darcy_. These are the names listed on the land claims; C. Bingley has the claim to the north of the Bennets; F. Darcy, another newcomer freshly unearthed by the gossipmongers, has a claim a bit more distant to the west. Accounts of their backgrounds and fortunes vary; everyone seems to have heard a firsthand account of both, and their personages morph from group to group: here a politician from a dignified old family, there a banker bored with routine. Whether their fortunes were made by means innocent or evil can only be guessed at, and all do.

The Bennet sisters are no exception. They discuss the matter with the mayor's daughters and some of the local farmers and farmhands. All that is truly known of the newcomers are their last names and the acreage of their purchased land. C. Bingley's claim is impressive, and caused quite a flutter in the hearts of the young ladies of the neighborhood until it was discovered F. Darcy's is four times the size.

Conversation comes to a stuttering halt when a fine new surrey drives up and from it alight the main players of the evening's amusement. Two tall young men, their faces handsome and unfamiliar, hand down two elegantly dressed women. The hearts of half the crowd sink to the hems of their scallop-edged muslin drawers, but revive cautiously at the appearance of a plumpish third man, who jumps ungracefully from the back of the surrey.

The sun has dropped beyond the horizon but is still gallantly attempting to light the underside of some thick indigo clouds. Lanterns have been strung over a makeshift floor of wooden planks. The evening is mercifully cool.

The violin gives one great screech and jumps into action. The townspeople start clapping, cheering as Mayor Lucas stands up to call the next dance. The newcomers look askance at the gathering.

"That un's Bingley," points Farmer Forster. "I saw him yesterday in the merc. He told Phillips he were havin' his sisters to visit now the house is done. Theys helpin' get him settled."

"Sisters!" Jane notes, a bit more shrilly than is her wont. The others briefly abuse Forster for having withheld this vital piece of information until now.

Kate says, "What about the other? The strappin', handsome one, not the doughball."

Lyddie comes at them at a run, full of reports. "The taller one's F. Darcy. His friends called him Will. He's a _rancher_ ," she announces gleefully, and watches in sadistic delight as her audience dissolves into groans.

"Just what we needed."

"Too good to be an honest farmer, is he?"

"What else, Lyd?"

"Charlie Bingley. Bright green new money. They found oil on his stake in Dakota just a year or so ago. He can't touch F. Will Darcy, though. That un's runnin' an old family business up in Cincy when he ain't bossin' ranch hands around. Rich as Croesus, _he_ is."

"You know who Croesus is, you faker?"

"Sure do." She puts her hands on her hips. "He's that miner who struck gold over in Sully Creek. So there, Jack Denny."

"They're comin' over here," says Kate, in tones of urgency and terror. Every head in the group swivels toward the newcomers, who are walking toward them, guided by Tom Phillips. The shopkeeper introduces the Bingley sisters, one of whom is married to the plumpish third man, then the two new permanent additions to the neighborhood. Every local girl instantly forgets her name.

Charlie Bingley is the sort of person it is easy to love. Amiable, an easy talker, hair that needs cutting—they have all taken him into their hearts before his third sentence. He's off and away onto the dance floor with Jane as soon as the Mayor calls out the start of the next reel. Elizabeth watches them with growing delight: Charlie laughing across the square at his partner every time he make a misstep, her sister flushed pink with happiness.

His friend is another matter. Elizabeth, who initially thought Will Darcy the better-looking of the two, quickly finds he is the unattractive sort of person who thinks possession of money and position bypass necessity of character. He stands silent, not bothering to pretend he is listening to the conversation, his eyes flicking boredly around the party as if wondering how he has found himself so far from civilization. Upon being asked if he plans to dance, he deigns to respond that he prefers to waltz. Lyddie hisses in her ear, "Well ain't he somethin' else altogether," and Elizabeth hums agreement. Once Charlie and Jane are dancing, there is nothing to stay for. She nudges Forster and jumps with him into the fray.

The night is mild, the violin is busy, and Elizabeth doesn't think of the newcomers again until much later. While sitting out with a glass of lemonade, catching her breath, she watches Charlie Bingley weave through the crowd and realizes his target is standing not far from her.

During the earlier introductions, Charlie had mentioned that his family and Will's had known each other for years. Elizabeth had wondered if they only considered each other close acquaintances for the sake of family history, and now finds herself proved wrong, if Charlie's affectionate exasperation is anything to go by. They've clearly had this conversation before.

"What you standin' here like a lump for? Why ain't you dancin'?"

"You call that dancin'?"

"Don't care what it's called, it's a whole heckuva lotta fun is what it is."

"And no wonder. You're dancin' with the prettiest girl here."

"Ain't she though? I tell you. I'm plumb distracted. Hey, come on out there."

"I don't know nobody but your sisters, and who knows where they gone off to."

"It's a square dance, Will, you dance with everybody." He turns to scan the non-dancing crowd. Elizabeth locks her eyes on the dancers as though she is about to be quizzed on the steps. "There's Jane's sister, without a partner. She's right pretty. Ask her."

"If you call that pretty."

"Aw, Will. That was rude, you ain't hafta say that. You ain't gotta get all prickly just cause you wanna leave." Charlie waves a hand in disgusted surrender. "Suit yourself." He vanishes back into the crowd.

Elizabeth decides to ignore the insult and focus instead on the one redeeming quality of a rancher: they're gone for half a year on the cattle drive. And when Jack Denny approaches her with a broad grin, hands extended to lead her back onto the floor, she shows Will Darcy the warmest smile in her arsenal as she passes by.


	2. Chapter 2

Charlotte Lucas is indignant. "Well, I never!"

The sweep of grass in front of the church is covered in food-laden quilts. The churchgoing farmers and ranchers and townspeople of Meryton swelter in the sun and disagree over the sermon while drinking river-chilled lemonade and eating cold chicken. Charlotte has joined the Bennet sisters on their quilt, where Elizabeth has just finished recounting her snub from the locale's newest rancher. _Horse_ rancher, it turns out. So much for cattle drive absences.

"What do you expect from a man from Cincy?" Mary says loftily. "Ain't got no manners, city folk."

"And he raises _horses_ ," says Kate. "Cattle ain't good enough for him or somethin'?"

Jane says, "I'm sure he's very good to his horses."

"That'd be the life, wouldn't it?" says Elizabeth. "If I was an animal, I'd be a horse on the Darcy ranch. I'll bet they drink sugar water out of silver troughs. Yes, that'd suit me fine."

"An' you could kick him in the backside whenever he gets on your nerves," says Lyddie.

"Who we kickin'?" says their father, returning from a debate with a group of men a few blankets over.

"Just Will Darcy, Pa."

"Ah," says Mr. Bennet mildly, refilling his plate with chicken. "Serve him right," he tells Elizabeth, then ambles back over to his group.

"Did you see the hats Charlie Bingley's sisters were wearin'?" says Kate wistfully.

"Yes," says Charlotte; "Poor Mrs. Renfro couldn't see over 'em."

Lyddie snorts. "Didn't miss much. Oh, don't scold, Jane, Parson Collins ain't anythin' to look at at all. Her eyes were probably glad for the break."

"I didn't see them," says Mary. "Where are they, anyhow?"

"Gone back to Charlie's and took the parson with them. They invited him to _luncheon_ , now that they _finally_ got the new _china_ in from _Austria_."

"Well, ain't the parson special!"

"Heard them talkin' about wine from France too!"

"A brand new house full of glass," says Elizabeth, with one eye on Jane. "Finally, a worthy challenge for the first tornado of the season." The others laugh.

"Too hoity-toity for a picnic." Charlotte shakes her head.

"They might just want to host Parson Collins," protests Jane. "You can't judge them by their first week."

Their mother, who has been gossiping with other farmwives in the shade of the church porch, hurries over to them. "Girls! You'll never guess! The Bingleys got in a shipment of real French wine! I'm sure it don't hold a candle to our Ohio vintage, but—imagine! I wonder if he might be wantin' to have a samplin' party, as a way of welcomin' the neighborhood."

"Who'd want dishes from Austria anyhow?" says Lyddie. "They probly got kangaroos painted on them," and with that they pack up to go home.

-

Charlie Bingley's family leaves just in time for the harvest work to start. As he hasn't got a crop yet, himself, just a shiny new farmhouse "with only himself knockin' around in it", he offers his strength and time to his neighbors, who don't need to be asked twice. He shows up at dawn, labors with them the whole day long, and spends the bulk of his time swinging a scythe near wherever Jane happens to be, singing while he works. Elizabeth, who already thought well of him, decides he is a near-perfect specimen of a man. She teases Jane, who already thought more than well of him, that she is considering falling in love with him herself.

"Rich _and_ handsome _and_ generous, _and_ he laughs at all my jokes. And he's an excellent judge of character; he's already worked out that you're the only one of us worth payin' any mind."

Even their father has noticed. "Thank you, Lord," he prays over supper, "for makin' Jane a Bennet and not a Lucas; it's been mighty nice to have an extra set of hands this season, particular since the Jackson boy thinks he oughta get paid for napping and Ephraim Chester done lost his hand to that woodsaw."

Mary says, "Can I come live with you when you're married, Janie?"

Lyddie says, "Promise our dresses will be plum purple. I look my most fetchin' in plum."

Kate wails, "Promise you won't have your wedding in the spring. I'll be all swelled up with hayfever and Byron Overfair will be there for certain."

Elizabeth says, "Promise to serve French wine at your wedding feast. None of that shoddy Italian stuff."

"He ain't even asked me on a buggy ride," protests Jane, who is rose-pink.

"He'll be takin' you Atlantic-side for your honeymoon, sure as shootin'," says their mother. "Don't let him skip New York City, now. Seein' as we ain't never been, I wonder if he might want to have your father an' me along too."

When rolling fields are shorn to the dirt in every direction one looks, Meryton has its harvest dance. Wagons arrive laden with the richest pickings of the harvest yield: bushels of crisp apples, pale sweet corn, red potatoes and yellow yams, jars of cherry jam, peach pies, cornbread with new butter, and two enormous hogs for roasting. A massive bonfire throws up shining golden sparks into the evening sky as it shifts from rose to velvet black. Fireflies glowing in the fields and white stars scattered through the heavens wreath the giant orange harvest moon.

The Bennets settle in as though arrived at their second home. Elizabeth and Jane toss toasted pecans to the giggling children of the farmhands. Mary recruits the Lucas girls to help roast apples for the group gathered around the circle of firelight. Their mother buzzes like a cicada from group to group, gleaning and scattering gossip; their father and his crowd sit on straw bales, drinking corn whiskey and laughing uproariously at jokes only they understand. Lyddie and Kate flit through the firelight arm in arm, roasted apples and sweet bourbon mingled on their breath.

Lantern-bedecked buggies roll through the darkening fields to deposit their cargo into the happy harmony around the bonfire. Elizabeth sights Will Darcy, who seems to only have two expressions: neutral or frowning; she waves to Charlie, who lights up and returns the gesture. She shifts herself to sit closer to Charlotte, leaving a gap along the edge of the wagon bed beside Jane. Charlie claims the space beside her sister and Will takes a seat between him and Elizabeth.

Elizabeth says, "You're just in time to settle an argument, Charlie."

"An argument between sisters? I've learned to stay a safe distance from those."

"Lorna Hardin spiked her apple pie."

Jane says, "She did not."

"She baked it to a perfect crisp then poured half a bottle of bourbon in through the lattice gaps. Or she didn't. Who's right?"

Charlie's smile grows even wider, a thing Elizabeth wouldn't have believed possible if she hadn't witnessed it in person. "Oh dear. I shall have to sample it myself to reach a verdict. What a trial."

"While you're up," Elizabeth says significantly, "Charlotte has a hankering for a slice of Mrs. Luddon's rhubarb, and if you just happened to bring along a slice of cherry, well, I could never be so rude as to refuse it."

Charlie accepts his new role as delivery boy with good grace. "Anyone else? Jane? Will?"

Jane requests apple too. Will declines. Charlie tears his eyes from Jane and cuts away through the firelight, calling, "I'll hafta carry one on my head."

"You don't like pie, Will? Alice Setterbee's cherry pie will convert even the most fervent cake devotee."

"I never indulge," he says, eyes intent on Charlie in the distance.

"One slice _will_ kill you," she allows, then shifts her attention to her youngest sisters, who have run up to inform them to avoid the mulled cider as Jonas Lodge has got sick on it and set himself on fire.

Charlie determines that Lorna Hardin did indeed spike her apple pie and calls it the cleverest idea south of the Great Lakes. Tom and Evie Phillips stop at the wagon to greet their family and neighbors. Lawson Vreeland and Jack Denny tell the story of Parson Collins' pig's escape and the ensuing great chase down the street of town, and have everyone (with one exception) laughing so hard they're holding their ribs.

Lyddie looks around and shrieks a little. " _Oh!_ lordy! Sarah was not messin' around when she said she was bringin' home all her beaux to show off."

Kate is incredulous. "How'd a girl as plain as Sarah manage _three_ admirers?"

Across the way, Sarah Fryer, the town blacksmith's daughter, newly returned from a stay in Boston with her aunt, stands surrounded by three college boys. All of them are heavily overdressed, though Sarah seems to be the only one who did so intentionally.

"The one on the left looks like he's about ready to peel off. Come on, Lizzy; you gotta distract Sarah while we lure her beaux away."

Elizabeth tells Jane, "If I don't return, I bequeath to you my daguerreotype of Mary holding in a sneeze," and is dragged off the wagon.

Sarah Fryer sees their approach and begins herding her posse in the other direction; Elizabeth manages to detach from her sisters when they move to cut her off at the pass. The fiddle strikes up a jaunty tune and a cheer rises. Neighbors and lovers grab each other's hands and soon there are dozens of couples circling the bonfire in time with the music. The onlookers sing and clap along. Charlie grins and holds a hand out to Jane, whose smile fills her face. Elizabeth avoids a likeminded Parson Collins until she is swung into the dance by a ranch hand with brown eyes and a wide smile. Everyone is wreathed in merriment, laughing as they whirl around, quick alternations of light and shadow thrown across their revolving forms.

The dance ends. Everyone claps and the winded participants drop hands and beam at each other. Elizabeth's partner bows to her.

"George Wickham," he introduces himself.

"Lizzy Bennet," she answers, smiling back, trying to catch her breath. "Where do you hail from, Mr. Wickham?"

"I been down Kentucky way for the last five years or so. It's a nice township, this; I ain't seen a place yet I'd be so keen as to stay for good."

"You're a farmer?"

"Ranch hand. Ain't got the patience to walk behind a plow. The stink of horse sweat, that's the life for me." His laugh is contagious, and she joins him. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Will Darcy watching them, the frown in full force on his face. George follows her gaze.

"Boss is watchin'," he says, voice low. "Best behavior now."

"You work the Darcy ranch? I'm considering coming back in my next life as one of the Darcy horses."

"I'll say this much: it's a far, far better thing to be a horse on that ranch than a human."

She frowns. "Does he mistreat you?"

"Not in obvious ways, but he's a clever man." George shakes his head. "I don't want to spoil the mood, but there's a reason his sister chooses to stay in Cincy instead of joining him here."

Will is still watching them; it's starting to get uncomfortable, now.

Not only that, now all three of them are frowning. Time to reset the count. She grins at her companion as the music strikes up again. "Another dance, good rancher?"

"My line of thought exactly, Miss Lizzy." He offers her his arm and they jump into the crowd sorting itself into pairs and squares.

-

The trees are bright and vivid as fire. Busy breezes shake orange and yellow leaves loose. Elizabeth stands under a watery blue sky, watching her exhaled breath hang in the chill air, feeling her hot blood race through her body. Everything is possible on a morning like this.

-

"Lordy, I love a wedding," says Lyddie, surveying the crowd of scrubbed up men. They're washed and shaved and buttoned up almost past the point of recognition.

The church is dressed in draped white cloth and the last of the year's roses. The Bennets sit with the Lucases and the Phillipses and Charlie Bingley at one of the long candlelit tables on the church lawn, chattering over the wedding supper.

She hears the Lucases ask after Will Darcy. "Gonna be late," Charlie tells them. Numerous looks are exchanged at this admitted rudeness: the townsfolk silently acknowledging their right to continue disliking the local black sheep. Conversation returns to the wedding. Mrs. Bennet regrets to have little praise to offer as regards the ceremony ("rather unoriginal"), the decorations ("rather showy"), or the bride ("rather sweet, but doesn't hold a candle to the brides my girls will make – don't you agree, Charlie?") but she is well pleased with the exotic wedding favor: an orange for each guest, shipped in crates from California by way of Chicago. Forster's mother prevails upon the Bennet sisters to help plate and pass out the wedding cake.

" _There's_ a face," Lyddie breathes in her ear, and Elizabeth looks up into dancing brown eyes and sharp cheekbones.

"Miss Lizzy," George Wickham smiles. "May I have the honor of the first dance with you? Once the music gets goin’, of course."

"You may," she smiles back, handing him a slice of cake. He bows to her, grinning, and returns to the table where the ranch hands are sitting.

The cake is cut down to the bare platter. The guttering candles are replenished. Elizabeth helps Lyddie repin her crown braid and listens patiently to Mary's recitation and then explanation of 1 Corinthians 13 in full, which (per Mary) would have been more appropriate for the homily than just a few paltry middle verses.

A cheer rises. The bride and groom step arm in arm into the space that has been marked out for dancing. A lone violin starts up a slow, lovely tune. Forster smiles affectionately down at his pretty new wife, who beams up at him. They waltz slowly over the grass while conducting a conversation only they can hear.

The song nears its end and the fiddle and banjos join in. The surrounding crowd cheers and claps and jumps into the dance with the new couple. Elizabeth looks around for George but he is nowhere to be seen.

Jane dissolves into the crowd with Charlie. Kate is ambushed by Parson Collins and makes the best of a bad situation by performing most of the dance as though it is a Russian barynya. Elizabeth, watching this, is laughing to the point of tears when her companions' eyes slant to a spot behind her and she turns around to find Will Darcy: white-shirted, bow-tied, and hair slicked. To her utter astonishment, he asks her to dance.

"I was given to believe you dislike square dancin'," she says, in a futile attempt to dissuade him from the pursuit.

"I don't claim it as my favorite pastime, but wedded felicity ought to be feted, don't you agree?"

Lyddie mutters, "Now he's just makin' up words."

Elizabeth, at a loss for an alternative, accepts his invitation. She expects him to wander away until the next dance starts, but he chooses to stand in silence beside their group for the duration. He doesn't notice the subsequent flurry of unspoken conversation conducted a few feet from him. Maria Lucas and Lyddie clearly want her to walk away with him so that they can resume their commentary of the dancers, Charlotte thinks she ought to withdraw her consent, and Mary wants her to press him to contribute to the building of a town library.

"I didn't see you arrive, Will," says Elizabeth.

"Been here 'bout an hour.”

Behind him, Charlotte shakes her head vigorously. "It can be a small one," hisses Mary. Lyddie and Maria lose patience and march off to conduct their conversation elsewhere.

Finally the song changes. Elizabeth takes the hand that is held out to her and walks onto the lawn to start the next dance. They stand shoulder to shoulder. Her partner's signature frown is absent, but he's a far piece from smiling. She leans forward to get a better look at his face. "Thinkin' of escapin'?"

He gives her an odd look but then the music starts in earnest. Their feet pick up. Surrounded by laughing, shouting neighbors, they complete two rounds in total silence. She beams at her sisters when they link arms before swinging back to their partners.

"If I were you," she says, "I'd wait until Charlie goes for another round. He spends a good ten minutes talking to the group around the casks. That's a solid head start."

His tone is a little flat. "Tryin' to get rid of me?"

"Tryin' to help end your misery."

"I'm precisely where I intend to be."

"Coulda fooled me." He looks surprised. "From the look of you, everyone here is gonna think I'm a right bore."

Another half-round in silence. Elizabeth isn't particularly bothered; she loves dancing, and if the snob Will Darcy doesn't want to talk to her it means she doesn't have to talk to him. She rolls her eyes at a love-bright Jane as they cross paths.

Will says, "Have you… uh, you read any good books lately?"

"None come to mind," she says cheerfully and swings away.

When they reunite, he looks like he's still casting about for something to say. She decides to help him; she'd rather control the direction of any conversation and he's a character study sure enough. "You talk like a rancher, but they say you're from Cincy."

"I grew up on the land and it’s where I prefer to live, but I've got obligations in the city. Have had for a number of years now."

"And what's brought you all the way to our corner of Ohio?"

"Charlie. I had a couple small farms scattered round and when he said he was wantin' to settle out here, I thought, well, here's a place I could consolidate all of 'em. So I did. And what about you, Miss Elizabeth? You always live in Meryton?"

"We were all born here, right out there amongst the wildflowers."

"Must have been hard on your mother. Bringin' up all of you. Seein' to your schoolin'."

"Hardly," she laughs. "My pa's the only reason I can read a word."

He looks uncertain. "Your pa, then."

She grins. "Oh, we grew up wild. Ain't no hope for any of us."

The music comes to a whirling end. Elizabeth drops his hands, claps for the musicians, drops a quick curtsey, and leaves him.

She happens to exit the floor near where her youngest sister is standing. Lyddie's eyes are narrowed and fixed on the rancher.

"What was that about anyway? Him dancin' with a local girl folks is fond of, like he thinks it'll make folks like him? We ain't needin' folks like him. Him with his fancy talkin' an' his fancy clothes."

"Hush, Lyddie, he's gonna hear you."

"What if he does?"

"It's rude, is what."

Her mother appears at Lyddie's shoulder. "I saw you out there with that wretch and I had Ben end the song early for you, Lizzy. Thank the Lord it's Charlie who's after Jane, not him."

"Hush, both of you!" orders Elizabeth, and herds her family back into the loose safety of the Lucas gossip ring.

The party doesn't break up until the moon is high and distant in the sky. Mr. Bennet loads his sleepy, footsore family into the wagon and drives home under an umbrella of twinkling stars.


	3. Chapter 3

The wind rattles the windowpanes and the chill creeps into their beds. They pack up for town. Elizabeth takes her place at the counter of her Uncle Phillips's mercantile.

One Sunday they find out that Charlie Bingley has left town. It's buzzing on the lips of everyone in church. Gone back to the big city. No one knows why he's gone away or when he'll be back. From things he said to the coachman, overheard by the ever-alert gossipmongers who sit in front of the saloon playing checkers, there is little reason to believe he plans to return.

-

Elizabeth says, "I can warm some milk up for you. To help you sleep."

Jane says, "I'm asleep."

Elizabeth rolls toward her sister. She hugs her from behind and hooks her chin over Jane's shoulder. "You ain't gotta talk about it. But. You know."

Jane's hand comes up to briefly touch Elizabeth's and the tightness in her shoulders slackens a little. "I know."

Elizabeth closes her eyes and feels the faint thud of her sister's heart through her back and listens to her breathing until the heartbeats slow and the breaths become deep and regular. They fall asleep curled together and don't wake until the sun peeks over the horizon to shine through the window and into their eyes.

-

George Wickham enters the shop and they call greetings to him. He leans against the counter. Lyddie says, "Well now. Ain't seen _you_ in a few days."

"Missed me, did you?"

"Listen to him! Thinkin' he's special. No, gave me a few days of peace. Praised God, I did." He grins at her.

Elizabeth says, "Can I get you something, George?"

"Tabacc, if y'please. And a new shop assistant, this'un's a bit mouthy."

The door opens again and Will Darcy steps inside. From her perch on the ladder behind the counter, Elizabeth can't see their faces, but she sees both men tense. George takes a few steps away, ostensibly to look at saddles Elizabeth knows he doesn't need, and Will steps up to the counter.

" _Mister_ Darcy," Lyddie drawls. "What can I do you for?"

"Howdy, Miss Lydia. I thought your sister – oh, there she is."

"She's helpin' Mr. George Wickham, but it would honor _me_ to no end to be allowed to assist you."

Elizabeth climbs down the ladder. "Anything else, George?" She sneaks a look at Will; his expression is neutral in spite of Lyddie.

"That'll do me. On credit, if you please." George flashes her a blinding smile and a wink.

Will pays cash for his box of nails and both men leave. The sisters see them out the door. Will goes to the right; George, who briefly looks like he means to turn right, goes left.

"You deserve a smack," Elizabeth tells her sister.

"Go on. You'd've said the same thing to him, in just the same manner."

And Elizabeth must admit she's right.

-

Thanksgiving comes and goes. Color fades from the world and leaves it sharp and brown. There isn't word from Charlie. On the day of the first snowfall Will Darcy asks Elizabeth to marry him and she has the pleasure of laughing in his face.

"As if I would marry a man like you."

He looks thunderstruck. "And what sort of man am I?"

"One who can't even speak to folks due always chokin' on his own importance. One who mistreats his hands!"

A heat storm rises in his eyes. "I _never_."

"I have it firsthand."

"Name the man."

She hugs her shawl tighter to her against the wind and glares at him, purposely silent.

He bites out, "If George Wickham has been pourin' poison down your ears—"

"I didn't say a name. Don't you punish him for this."

"He's a dirty liar."

"No more than you. What lies did you tell Charlie Bingley to drive him back to Cincy? You broke my sister's heart! The only man she ever loved, and he loved her! And you drove them apart!"

"You expect me to believe that? She barely spoke to him even when they were alone!"

"Do forgive Jane for not having the kind of love that's only recognizable if it blasts down the door!"

He turns around and has to walk a few steps down the road, hands on his head, clearly trying to get his temper in check. Her own fighting blood is up and she is ready for anything he wants to dish out; she almost hopes he'll give her a reason to call him every awful thing she can think of. It might gain her an enemy, but she's already sworn to hate him forever for what he did to Jane. She cried for days when she figured it out.

When he turns back to her, he manages to speak in controlled tones, though anger and frustration still simmer in his eyes. Snowflakes land on his gray-coated shoulders and don't melt, but the ones that catch in his eyelashes do.

"I stand by my judgment about your sister and Charlie. His welfare and happiness are my priority, as I'm sure Jane's are yours. He's got money and an open heart; people take advantage. I ain't sorry for protectin' him, though I'm truly sorry it has made you unhappy. Your sister too, if her feelings were true. But my conscience is clear." He pauses to glare at the ground and breathes out hard through his nose before looking at her again. "And I stand by my account of George Wickham. I ain't the only one who can give you solid evidence for those claims. He's a scoundrel. A seducer. He's neck-deep in gamblin' debt. Only reason I let him work for me is I promised his pa I'd keep an eye on him, try to set him straight. He hates me for it. Hates that I know him for what he is." His jaw clenches. "I know you're friends. I ain't presumin' to tell you what to do as regards George Wickham, but I beg you will believe me. I ain't never—I ain't _never_ lied to you. I never will." His hat, removed at the first moment of their meeting, returns to his head and is tugged low on his forehead. "Now, you made your low opinion of me mighty clear, and I won't bother you with my attentions again. I bid you good day, Miss Elizabeth."

She can hardly bring herself to reply. He turns quickly and mounts his horse, urging it into a slow canter.

The wind bites at her face and hands but she hardly notices; her mind is spinning with the encounter she's just had. She resumes her walk home, trying and failing not to look at the the dark figure making its way across the whitened prairie landscape ahead of her, until finally he vanishes over the crest of a low hill.

-

"Hand me that ribbon, will you, Kate?" From atop a ladder Elizabeth hooks pine boughs onto nails. A rather wan Jane stands below her, feeding her the garland. The church is abustle with decorative activity; Christmas is just weeks away.

"There's sap all over my hands," Lyddie complains. "How long is this gonna take?"

From her perch Elizabeth has a bird's eye view of the sanctuary. Her mother and Mrs. Lucas are adding candles to the Christmas tree. The new Mrs. Forster and the Lucas girls are stringing popcorn and making wreaths. Mary is in a hot dispute with Parson Collins over the accuracy of the nativity scene. Elizabeth has been trying to keep the women in her area busy singing Christmas carols; otherwise they fall to gossiping. Charlie has already been mentioned twice.

Someone says, "Ain't Will Darcy stayin' in town, Lizzy?"

"Search me," says Elizabeth, alarmed lest someone think she tracks his movements. She hasn't told anyone of their recent encounter, not even Jane, and she has no reason to think he would mention it to anyone either; but the good folk of Meryton have a bad habit of making their own assumptions.

Farmer Forster, who has come inside ostensibly to collect more wreaths to hang on the exterior windows and in actuality to kiss his wife, says, "Aw, he's holed up on that ranch of his. He's like a hibernating bear, won't show his face til the flowers do."

Elizabeth has not seen Will since his proposal. She has spent the ensuing days wrestling with conflicting responses to his last words to her. Her anger toward him as relates to Jane is unchanged; she would be just as leery of apparent golddiggers were their positions reversed, but he cannot be excused for the life-wrecking assumptions he made based only on face value. As far as George Wickham goes, she has collected more evidence to support Will's claims than to the contrary. It seems George is a regular offender at the saloon's poker table, is on disconcertingly familiar terms with the resident whores, and has been thrown out for brawling more times than the barkeep can count. Perhaps Will is right about at least one thing. All Elizabeth is certain of is that she has no desire to hasten their next meeting.

He doesn't attend the Christmas Eve service. She glimpses him out of the tail of her eye during the Christmas morning service; he sits in the back and is gone as soon as the parson says the final Amen.

Christmas marks the end of the festive season. There are no weddings or parties left to anticipate. Meryton hunkers down to wait out the snow. There is nothing to do but count the gray days until the sun returns.


	4. Chapter 4

Spring! The hills turn a bright, tender green. Birdsong returns. Charlotte accepts a proposal from Parson Collins. The Bennets move back to the farm and the cattle ranchers prepare to head westward. Elizabeth folds dried lavender into her heavy winter clothes and airs out her summer dresses.

"Lyddie's in trouble," Jane tells her. The world lurches sideways.

"The father?"

"Long gone."

Elizabeth saddles up the mare and rides through their familiar baby-green fields and blooming orchards, past Charlie Bingley's empty, weed-choked plot, past the bluffs that fringe the freezing river. She ends up on Will Darcy's land.

Horses dot green, sun-drenched hills that look like they drop off into the wide blue sky. Long fences criss-cross the land, cordoning off swathes of grass and splitting the herds. Ranch hands make their rounds on horseback, stopping at intervals to check on a fence or a horse. The house and barns are somewhere distant, but all the horses are outdoors, shedding their thick winter coats and racing each other around the vast pastures in jubilant celebration of the return of warm weather.

She can pick him out even at a distance. He stands at a horse's shoulder, holding its hoof in order to remove a stone. The man holding the horse's head sees her first; he points and Will straightens and looks her way. His face is nothing but a blur. After a moment his head turns back to the horse.

Elizabeth keeps riding toward him, cutting through the open grass. He drops the hoof and pats the horse's shoulder, releasing it. He says something to the hand, then turns and starts walking toward her. There is a fence between them, which he swings himself over. As she gets closer he stops and stands in the middle of the swaying grass, tall and straight-backed, waiting.

She pulls up beside him. He takes his hat off and nods to her. He catches the lead she tosses to him and speaks low to her mare while she dismounts.

He has rolled up his sleeves and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt. His tanned skin glows with exertion beneath a sheen of sweat; his hair is tousled and dark with perspiration.

"Afternoon, Will."

"Afternoon, Miss Elizabeth. You're a ways from home." He squints down at her, frowning. "Are you unwell?"

"I've a great deal on my mind. I haven't any right, I know, but I come to beg a favor." She takes a breath. "I imagine Cincy's got places for girls in trouble."

"Sure do."

"I'd be obliged if you could tell me one that's run by good honest folk."

She might have asked him how many stock he plans to clear this year; he doesn't even blink. "I'll have my man there look into it. You can expect an answer by Sunday."

"Obliged."

He nods to her. "Will you stay for supper?" which is a gesture she hardly deserves even without their lurking history, and she thinks for the second time in an afternoon that Will Darcy is a terribly decent man.

"I best be gettin' home before they send out a search party." She swings herself back up into the saddle. He reaches up to hand her the reins; his fingertips are calloused and warm.

She looks down at him. "Will."

He nods a farewell. His eyes are green as the newly swathed hills. The comparison is irrelevant but it sticks in her head the whole ride home; it feels like everywhere she looks she's staring into them.

-

Three days later he shows up at the farm. She's on the porch peeling potatoes when he rides up. He dismounts and hooks his hat over his saddlehorn and she stands and wipes her hands on her apron while he’s climbing the steps. He takes a folded piece of paper out of his shirt pocket and holds it out to her.

"The information you was wantin'."

"Thank you," she says, "and for not… askin'."

"Ain't my business."

Lyddie appears in the doorway. Her hair is bundled under a cloth and she's holding a dishrag. Elizabeth wishes she hadn't heard the horse; Lyddie's temper is even shorter while she's doing chores.

"Hello there, Mr. Will. You come here to tell us about my new prison?"

Elizabeth sees understanding flash across his eyes.

He says, "It's a pleasant place, Miss Lydia. I think you'll enjoy your stay."

"Must be nice, knowin' all there is to know about Cincy. Maybe you oughta be payin' closer mind to what's right here. It's one of your ranch hands done this to me."

"I'm mighty sorry to hear that."

"George Wickham. You track him down and make him come back and marry me proper."

" 'Fraid no one knows where Wickham's gone off to, miss."

"That's why you gotta track him, ain't it?"

Elizabeth says, "No one's trackin' anybody. He's long gone and good riddance. Will, I'll see you off. Lyd, you're drippin' soap all over the floor."

Lyddie goes back inside with a huff. Elizabeth walks Will the few short steps to his horse.

He doesn't mount. "Y'alright?"

"Feel like it's my fault. You told me what he was an' I kept mum."

"Ain't nobody's fault but theirs. Little bit hers, mostly his. But if I see him again, I'll knock his block off for you." He nods to the paper she still holds. "I had 'em hold a room. It's ready whenever you decide to go."

"Thank you, Will."

Elizabeth goes back to the house and stands in the doorway. Lyddie is at the sink, scrubbing furiously. She stops and looks over her shoulder.

"Stop lookin' at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Sad, like. I ain't sorry. Don't need nobody feelin' sorry for me."

"You're my baby sister," Elizabeth tells her, crossing to her. "I'll always feel sorry for you. So young, so little. Little Lyddie."

"Argh, Lizzy, get off me."

"Want a hand with these?"

"I’ll accept the offer," says Lyddie loftily. Elizabeth grabs a towel and they stand shoulder to shoulder, washing and drying dishes in the warm sunshine streaming in through the window.

-

Once spring planting is done, Meryton comes together for the Forsters' house-raising party. The townsfolk saw and hammer and sing together, and in no time at all there are four walls and a future right there in the middle of the prairieland where yesterday there was nothing but grass.

Will Darcy spends most of the day on the roof. When Elizabeth climbs a ladder with water for the laborers he's hammering nails up at the peak. Her uncle Tom accepts the canteen with gratitude and waves her back down to the ground, saying that they'll pass it around and toss it down when empty. Not a face from the Darcy ranch is present at supper. It isn't until they are driving home that her father, answering a question of her mother's, mentions that the rancher and his ranch hands left as soon as the job was done.

He attends church on Sundays, sitting in the back with his men. They never stay for the after-service socializing or picnic lunch. By the time the Bennets, who sit near the front, make it outside, there is no sign he was ever there.

"You put your hair up," says Mary suspiciously. "And you're wearing your yellow dress again."

"I was given strict instructions by Lyddie to not let family appearances fall into decay by dressing like a sad spinster while she's away," Elizabeth tells her.

One Sunday not a single person from the ranch appears. When next two Sundays follow suit, the obvious conclusion is that it is no coincidence. Elizabeth sits with Charlotte in the shade of the church porch, watching the picnic crowd, wondering if it’s worth the risk to venture into her mother’s flock of gossiping farmwives.

Charlotte says, "I wonder why he left."

It takes Elizabeth a moment to collect herself. "Who?"

"Charlie Bingley." Charlotte is watching Jane. "She almost had him. I knew she wasn't layin' it on thick enough. If he'd known how she felt, maybe he'd have stayed."

"Doesn't matter why he left." It took Elizabeth three months to figure out that she is angrier at Charlie Bingley for leaving than at Will Darcy for sending him away. "If he loved her, he should have told her. If he didn't know how she felt, he ought’ve asked. He oughta stayed until he was sure whether she loved him or didn't."

Charlotte looks unconvinced. "I wish it had been his unpleasant friend who left instead. Ah well, at least we don't have to deal with him for a piece, either."

Elizabeth's heart beats hard and fast. "Why's that?"

"He's gone to the horse fairs, of course."

"Right," says Elizabeth. "Right. The big markets in Cincy and Columbus."

"With any luck he'll stay gone long enough for us to clear Independence Day. Last thing we need is him turning up his nose at the firecrackers and the baseball game and the pie contest."

The Sunday before Independence Day, the Darcy ranch staff walk through the church doorway and Elizabeth's blood jumps. It takes her the whole first hymn to sneak enough looks to determine all the crew are present except for the rancher.

This time she is not the only one wondering about his absence. It is Parson Collins who satisfies the congregation's curiosity: he prays for safety for their brother Will Darcy during his extended stay with his sister, that he not be corrupted by city vices.

Charlotte looks quite satisfied.

-

Elizabeth sits in the darkness of the porch beside open front window. She pulls her knees up to her chest and stares up at the night sky. Over the noise of cicadas screaming so loud a person can hardly hear their own thoughts she can just make out Jane's voice reading aloud to those family members gathered inside.

" _Truth shines like a star in the darkness_ ," her sister says, " _No matter how faint, no matter how distant; you may turn your eyes away and still it burns_."


	5. Chapter 5

Cincinnati is beautiful, in an overwhelming sort of way.

"Everything's so _tall_ ," says Jane.

There are parks and smokestacks and milkmen with carts. The two sisters buy a map and trek over cobbled streets and mud puddles to the address they've been sending letters to Lyddie for the last few months. It stands in the center of the block, proud and beautiful as a hotel. Curling black metal wreaths windows stacked three floors high; painted blue tile leads the visitors to the welcome desk in the front foyer, where they wait on a divan beside a trickling fountain full of goldfish. "All this?" Jane whispers in awe, and Elizabeth has to agree with her.

Lyddie greets them as though she is queen of the palace. She gives them the grand tour, her rounded stomach leading the way. The sisters, accompanied by a nurse, walk beneath vaulted ceilings held up by pillars of marble. It’s hard to tell what the place was birthed as—hospital, hotel, or convent—but it has morphed into the loveliest home any convalescent could ever dream of.

"Ain't everybody like me. That one were dropped when she were little. That one's in love with her lil' blue bottle. That one's got nothin' but a ma and pa who ditched her and run off to Spain. I'm teachin' that one to swear. Lizzy, how much you figure this place costs to stay?"

"One hundred dollars. Pa done paid already."

"Wrong," Lyddie crows. " _Six_ hundred. You wanna know who paid the rest? Just guess!"

Elizabeth feels as though the room has turned upside down. "Surely not." Jane looks puzzled.

"You can bet your bottom dollar he did."

"You're makin' it up."

"Lizzy." Lyddie is stern. "Of all your sisters, which one is the most capable of breakin' into the finance office and reading the billin' records?"

Jane says, "Who do you mean?"

"My knight in shinin' hardtack armor," says Lyddie. "His most magnificent magnificence Will Darcy."

Lunch arrives and the tack of conversation is blessedly forgotten. They eat in the breezeway that overlooks the inner courtyard. Afterward they walk through the sumptuous courtyard garden, where many of the sickest residents have gathered to read or knit or doze in the sunshine that filters through the glass dome high above.

"Wish I was sick like them," sings Lyddie. "Wish I could be pregnant forever, then I could stay here forever."

The nurse tells them quietly, "That's the fear talking. There was a girl here last week, built small like her, first baby too. Complications. Neither of them made it."

Jane's hand reaches out to seize Elizabeth's. Elizabeth grips it tight. They continue the tour, not letting go of each other until the end.

The sisters sightsee as much as they can with their limited funds and limited time. The city is a vastly different world from the prairie, that's certain: smoky and stony and wonderful and terrifying and so very big. Elizabeth knows without asking that Jane is wondering where Charlie's house is. It isn’t too far off the mark from Elizabeth's own unasked question. Every time they turn a corner she holds her breath.

The baby is a tiny red set of lungs and little else. "Takes after her mama," says Lyddie proudly. Elizabeth and Jane touch the little nose and marvel over the tiny fingernails and delicate eyebrows. She is the most perfect thing the world has ever seen.

The couple arrives that very afternoon. Lyddie signs her name where she is supposed to and they sign too. Then they walk out with the baby bundled up in a soft white blanket resting within a straw basket, terror and wonder on their faces, and Elizabeth knows they will love her exactly right, just as she knows the Bennets will never see her again.

A few days later Lyddie gives a grand farewell to the nurses and other residents and Jane packs her suitcase and they leave.

"Well, that's finally over," Lyddie says. She steps forward into the towering street, not checking to see if her sisters are behind her. Elizabeth and Jane look at each other. They don't need to say what both have seen. Something in her eyes has gone and won't ever come back.

-

Home. Nothing has changed but it doesn't quite fit; it will be a few days before they've adjusted back into the old everyday. In the meantime there is still bread to be baked and potatoes to be peeled and jam to be canned.

Elizabeth pauses as she crosses the kitchen, her attention caught by something outside. Lyddie sits on the steps, her back against the porch pole, looking out at the sweep of prairie. Her hand rests on her still-swollen stomach.

The breeze is a friendly warm one. Elizabeth sits on the steps beside her sister. She puts an arm around her shoulder and pulls her in close for a hug, presses a kiss to her hair.

Lyddie says, "I'm gonna be okay. I know you don't think so but I am."

Elizabeth tells her, "I missed you."

"Sure."

"Not every day, mind. Actually, it was only the one time. But I thought you should know."

"Mm. Appreciate you tellin' me. It means so much."

"Thought it might."

Their mother is calling. Time and tide wait for no jam. Elizabeth presses a kiss to her sister's temple, stands, tousles Lyddie's hair to make her yelp in irritation, and returns to the chopped and boiling peaches.

-

The Bennet sisters go to town for supplies from the mercantile and a visit to the telegraph office. The Lucas sisters hail them and they stop for a long chat at the end of the bank’s stretch of the boardwalk.

It is Elizabeth who is the first to see the figure who alights from the afternoon stage. She reaches behind her for Jane's hand. "Brace yourself," she tells her, and it is a good thing she does, because it's not a second later that his eyes fall on their little crowd. The next moment he is striding toward them, and Jane's fingers are tight around hers, and Elizabeth looks at the faces of those gathered around the stagecoach but there is nothing to see except the driver cracking his whip to settle his horses, who dislike the crowd and the dust.

Charlie is uncertain and remorseful and there is a fine layer of grit in all the corners of his face. He kneels on both knees before Jane and takes her hands in his. "Can you forgive me?"

Elizabeth wishes Jane would make him grovel a bit, but she is kind as ever. "'Course."

"Could you—Do you think—Will you marry me?" he says, in the manner of a man who knows he has no right to ask but loves enough to hope. Elizabeth finds herself forgiving this man with his kind brown eyes and his inability to summon a poker face or know when he is being manipulated. He has a heart as big as the whole world, almost as big as Jane's, and that's a rare thing indeed.

Her happiness for her sister is a bright, soaring thing. The chaos of the street full of horses and wagons and passerby and dust fades momentarily into the background as she hugs Jane tightly, whose heart is pounding so hard and fast Elizabeth can feel it through her dress. Charlotte is next, embracing her around the bulk of her rounded stomach. Then Jane slips back into the arms of her lover, who holds her against his side and looks down at her in wonder. Jane smiles up at him with her perfect pink mouth and cornflower eyes and Elizabeth feels the quiet pang of knowledge that she is no longer the most important person in her sister's life. It is a place she is overjoyed to forfeit but it nonetheless hurts to vacate.

Before they wander off to get lost for the rest of the afternoon, she manages to ask, "You travelin' alone, Charlie?"

"Quite alone," he says, eyes fixed on Jane.

Elizabeth spends the entire walk home pretending she wouldn't want it any other way.


	6. Chapter 6

"... An' the red ribbons for my hair, I think."

Kate says, " _I_ was gonna wear red."

"No; red for me. You always look best in orange anyway. And blue for Mary. Uncle Tom told me at church he got them in. Chores all done, Mama. We's off to town!" Lyddie claps. "Come along, Mary. You comin', Lizzy?"

Elizabeth blows them a kiss. Mary says flatly, "We're really doin' this?"

"Where's Jane gone off to?"

"Walkin' with Charlie, where else? Bye, Pa!" Lyddie and Kate kiss their father's forehead. They drag Mary out the door to the hitched-up wagon waiting outside.

Elizabeth gingerly retrieves hot toast from the fireplace. Mrs. Bennet hums while hulling a bowl of strawberries that will have transformed into a pie by the day's end. Mr. Bennet, eyes on his book, says, "Done bought a horse from Will Darcy."

Elizabeth drops her knife and gapes at him. "When on earth did you do that? What on earth possessed you?"

"Back in the spring. He promised me a filly, once the foals matured. Duchess is slowin' down, Lizzy, as you well know. She deserves a happy retirement."

"But—"

"Promised and paid for."

Mrs. Bennet exclaims, "Paid? He oughta gave it to you, seein' as he knows you. Ain't as though he needs the money."

"Lizzy, I want you to fetch it tomorrow. "

Mrs. Bennet cries, "The dangers of the road! You heard the talk on Sunday about them raidin' outlaws!"

"It's only two hours there and back. Lizzy's the only one I trust for this. Kate might be trusted with the money, but she ain't got a lick of horse sense, couldn't judge one if it bit her on the nose. Lyddie can't be trusted for either. Jane'd give the beast to the first needy soul she passed on the road. Mary might be able to do it," he says thoughtfully.

"I'll go," says Elizabeth.

-

The ranch house is so beautiful it makes her heart ache. Walls of pale pine logs are studded with chimney stacks and clear glass windows. Columns line a deep porch. The house sprawls out across the rise of a hill between two massive oaks, just a little way from the barn and stables; a cerulean sky stretches above it, in which fat white clouds hang as though fixed there by a painter. She can only imagine what it looks like inside.

"Come to fetch a horse," she tells the first farmhand she sees, and is instructed to wait in the shade of the porch while he fetches the manager.

After a while a weatherworn man with a thick brown beard appears and strides across the yard. "Miss Bennet?" He holds a hand out to shake. "Reynolds, ranch manager. They tell me you're here for your pa's horse. I've got her ready."

"Pleasure, Mr. Reynolds. Lead the way." She follows him over the grass. Gusts of wind pick at the tail of her braid and toss the grasstops back and forth.

"You worked here long, Mr. Reynolds?"

"Lost track of how long. Not _here_ , 'course, this place is still shinin' new. Been workin' a Darcy ranch for long as I can remember. Started as a scrawny kid muckin' stalls." He chuckles.

"That's a long time to work for the same man."

"It surely is."

"And next season? You'll stay on?"

"For as many seasons as I can. I ain't hankerin' to leave. A good farm is a rare find and a good boss is rarer. Meryton's a nice place. I'm happy to pass my days here."

"Mr. Darcy must trust you greatly, to go off to Cincy for months on end."

"Suppose so. We got us a rhythm, him an' me. We both agree how a ranch should be run."

"You ever think about startin' one of your own?"

"Nah. I got horse sense but no head for business. He's got both and look what's come of it. Good for him, I say. Usin' what the good Lord gave him to give honest work to the rest of us. Nah, this life suits me fine. I don't mind workin' for another man, least not him. He's a good boss. Hard worker. Fair. Easy to work for a good man whose payroll ain't never late." He winks at her.

"High praise."

"You knew him as well as I do, miss, you'd know he'd be like to strangle me for sayin' all this. Law, you ain't never seen a man squirm at a compliment like he does, like a worm on a hook."

"When d'you expect him back from Cincy?" she asks, and waits an eternity of dread and longing for the answer.

"Can't rightly say. He ain't never been one to follow a timetable. Here we are." He leads her to a corral in which a gray filly stands, her lead line looped around the rail. Behind them, the swaying golden grass sweeps up the rise of the river plateau.

Elizabeth halts. "You're sure this is the one."

"Sure thing. Boss picked her 'imself ages ago. Broke her 'imself too." He opens the gate for her.

She examines the filly in silence, running her hands over each foreleg, checking the teeth. She walks her around the corral with an eye on gait and disposition. Reynolds has saddled her and Elizabeth canters her to one of the far paddocks and back.

She dismounts and says: "I don't want this one." She points to a chestnut in the next paddock over. "Give me that one."

"Apologies, Miss Bennet, but I been told to give you this here horse and none other."

"I won't take this horse. She is not what was promised. Give us a different one."

"Miss Bennet—"

"Mr. Reynolds, I know I am puttin' you in a difficult position, but I absolutely refuse this horse."

Reynolds looks over his shoulder toward the house. "I'll see what I can do," he says, and stalks away.

Elizabeth continues stroking the horse, crooning at her when the filly nuzzles her hand for treats she does not have. She hears quick footsteps behind her.

"You don't like her," says his voice in her ear.

A hot red flush sweeps across her face; she tips her head so that her hat brim blocks her face from his view until the color has receded. "Thought you were away."

"Just got in. Reynolds told me you was here." He looks tired and there is dirt in every line on his face, even the areas that were covered by the bandana that has been pulled down to his neck. She wants to ask where he's been and if he's staying put for a while and why he didn't go straight to a hot bath and bed, but all she can manage is: "My pa asked me to fetch the horse."

"I heard. Somethin' wrong with my pick?"

"She's magnificent. And she's worth twice as much as we paid."

"The price ain't negotiable."

"My pa's an honest man. You mean to make a thief of him? What do you think he'll say when I ride into the yard on that? He'll be beside himself. He'll be back here tomorrow to give her back, and that'll be half a workday wasted. I don't have the funds to cover the difference and it's absurd to leave here empty-handed. Surely you understand – the only thing to do is to give us a different horse."

He crosses his arms and leans back against the fence so that he faces her from the side. "Consider it a gift."

"We done nothin' to deserve such a favor."

"A gift ain't a favor."

"We done nothin' to deserve such a gift. There ain't no good reason for it."

"Do I need a good reason for bein' generous? Ain't that what generosity is?"

"But. Why?"

"Guess I like imaginin' you and her roamin' the hills. She'll be yours, won't she?"

"Don't know. It ain't decided. Nothin's settled. Yes," she says. "She's mine."

"I'm glad to know it."

"Will, I know how much Lyddie's stay in Cincy cost. How much it _really_ cost. I don't know how we'll ever repay the debt, but the least we can do is pay you the full worth of a horse."

"There's no debt. You paid your part and I paid mine. I was payin' for a service."

Her confusion must be clear on her face. He asks, "Were you less anxious for your sister, knowin' where she was, knowin' she was safe and well cared for?"

"Yes," she says cautiously.

"That was the service. And well worth it. How long did it take you to figure this horse was worth more than your pa paid?"

"The moment I saw her."

"And you still took her out."

She flushes faintly. "Yes."

"Because you loved her the moment you saw her. I knew you would. Take the horse, Elizabeth." He picks up her hand and gently wraps her fingers around the lead line.

His eyes have never been so green. She cannot seem to look away from him. He stares down at her for one heartbeat. Two. Three.

He turns and strides away through the grass, back toward the house, and she watches for him while Reynolds untacks the filly but he doesn't appear again.

-

The Meryton grapevine is alive and well. By the time Elizabeth returns home, news has made its way to her mother, who greets her at the door to proclaim that Will Darcy is back and his sister is with him.

Elizabeth feels exceptionally stupid. She saw the man in person and could only talk about her own family, never once thinking to question the circumstances of his arrival. She might have met his sister without an audience present, had she not been a blockhead who could only think of herself.

The eager congregation turns out in full force on Sunday to see what sort of woman Will Darcy's sister is. Those hoping for another reason to dislike the Darcy name are disappointed: Georgia Darcy is a sweet, shy slip of a thing who is as eager to please her new neighbors as her brother was once eager to avoid them. Will stands at her elbow like a protective bird of prey. Elizabeth approaches with caution.

His eyes go warm and happy to see her, which unsettles her for a full minute. After introductions have been made and Georgia is talking with Jane and Kate, he speaks to Elizabeth quietly. "I wanted to be sure she'd have companionship before bringin' her out here. I been hop—wonderin'—do you think Jane an' you could take her under your wing?"

"Of course, Will. We'd be happy to." Relief splits his face open like an axe through wood. She says, "Why don't y'all join us for the picnic? We can get to know her better without puttin' anybody on the spot."

"That's mighty kind of you," he answers, and it takes her a full three seconds to realize he is accepting her invitation, so certain of a characteristic refusal was she.

Quilts are spread across the drying grass and platters of food are strewn across them. The breeze carries a chill but the sunshine is warm; cold days are nearing, but there are still dregs of summer to be wrung before they arrive. The good people of Meryton settle in to enjoy one of the last lawn luncheons of the year.

Elizabeth carefully manipulates the seating around the quilt so that her parents, Kate, Mary, and Lyddie are at the far side of the assembled group and her uncle's family are in the middle. She seats herself beside Georgia, expecting Will to seat himself on his sister's other side; but instead he leads Jane to the spot and instead takes the space beside Elizabeth.

Her energy and happiness soar to the sun, and her wit benefits from it; all the charm and humor she could have wished for fall from her tongue, dancing through the air and bringing smiles to all those listening. They make a happy group. Charlie sits beside Jane, both of them still glistening with love. Georgia is quickly put at ease thanks to the familiarity of her brother and Charlie as well as the friendliness of the Bennet sisters and the ever-lovely Tom and Evie Phillips. Elizabeth could have imagined plenty of ways the event might have turned into a disaster, but never one this successful—a great deal of which is directly related to how often she finds herself in private conversation with Will while the others talk around them.

"Pie!" hollers Mary. They call out their choices between apple, pecan, and cherry.

Will seems to struggle within himself before requesting cherry. Elizabeth asks for the same, then casts a curious look at her neighbor. He says, as though confessing a crime, "Got a sweet tooth."

"Which one is it?"

"I have it on good authority that one slice of this'll kill me."

She hands him the plate. "It's a brave last act." He pulls a face at her. The smile in his eyes makes her fingers tremble. She wonders if anyone has noticed she can hardly keep her eyes off him.

Georgia tells them about her favorite parts of Cincinnati. Lyddie, evidently feeling her role as resident city expert is being usurped, does her best to talk over her until Evie Phillips takes her for a walk to visit the Lucases' quilt. Jane tells Georgia about the annual autumn dances and Charlie promises to teach her all the steps to every reel. Elizabeth eats two bites of cherry pie and decides that she'd prefer apple. She hands the remainder to Will, who has cleaned his plate so thoroughly there is hardly a crumb left.

He gives her a slanted look. She grins and throws him a wink.

He eats every bite, even the crust. She knows because she checks.


	7. Chapter 7

He says "Elizabeth," and it sounds like the first time anyone has ever said her name as it's meant to be said.

A friendly night breeze has accompanied her down the row of pale oak stalls that has become a familiar route over the past few weeks. The barn is scented with sweet hay and sawdust. Halfway down the shed a stall door stands open. Lanterns hanging on posts within and without grant her a view of the tall, bareheaded man inside, who has paused in his task of brushing an enormous black stallion to smile at her.

She says, "I've come to collect you. Everybody's hungry."

He says, "I hope Jane likes eating on a schedule. You can set your clock by Charlie's stomach."

"I think they'll suit. Jane's trained all her cows to come back to the barn at the same time every day. Don't ask me how."

Jane and Charlie are inside the ranch house with Georgia. Elizabeth figures they're all too polite to chase her and Will down for a solid fifteen minutes at least. Her arrival hasn't set him working any faster, which suits her just fine.

"I brought jam," she says. "It's good, it's strawberry."

"Why, thank you. You didn't have to do that." He reaches for the jar she holds. She withdraws her arm.

"Yours is back at the house, my good Sir Sweet Tooth. _This_ is for him." She scoops a fingerful of jam and scrapes it off on the stall feedbox. The stallion turns a curious head and sniffs it, then licks it up eagerly and whuffs at her for more.

"Knew it. Apple never falls far."

"Spoilin' my horses."

"It's a good year for berries," she says absently, holding the jar for the stallion, who licks it clean in a matter of seconds. "Been a good season for everybody. Except Charlie, of course. I ain't had a chance to thank you for that, by the way." His shoulders tense. "I mean sendin' him back here. I assume it was you."

"When's the wedding?"

"Soon's the harvest is over. They're talkin' shiftin' to Cincy during the winter. And maybe Philly next year; we got family there. Jane wants me to come along."

He pauses. "And? You goin' with them?"

"Difficult to make plans when I don't know where I'll be in a year." She edges around the horse so that she stands on the same side of the stall as Will. "I'm hopin' to be married soon myself."

He ducks his head down to reach the stallion's underbelly. "Who's the lucky man?" His voice doesn't even shake. She isn't sure what to make of that. He straightens and she can see he isn't smiling anymore, which she decides is a good sign.

"Ain't a sure thing. I ain't told him yet."

He sounds amused despite himself. "You gotta notify him? That how it works round these parts?"

"Well, he asked the first time. Suppose it's my turn now."

His hands still. His eyes leap to hers. "Me?"

"If you're so inclined."

"Why'd you change your mind?" His expression is blank and his tone is neutral, far from the signs of a man in love. In a rush she loses all her nerve and resorts to levity.

"Finally seen your pretty house," she says lightly. "Took a fancy to it."

Something changes in his face – small and slight but definite. "The house? That's your reason?"

"That's the main one, yes."

He drops the brush and advances on her. "There's other reasons."

"A few." She can hardly breathe, caught in the sparking green current of his eyes. "Hardly anythin' to speak of."

"Why don't you go on and tell me anyhow." He leans against the wall behind her with one hand. She stares up at him: at the scruff covering the hollows of his cheeks and sharp line of his jaw; the pale tips of the lashes around his bright eyes; the lines in his forehead that are thrown into relief by his summer tan; his mouth that drives her distracted with a twitch of his lips, let alone an entire smile. That mouth is presently very close to her own.

"Happens I like horses better'n cows."

"Elizabeth," says his mouth. She drags her gaze from it up to his eyes. "You love me or not?"

The nearness of him, combined with her heart banging in her chest, makes it difficult to draw a full breath, but—"Awful lot," she manages, and she barely has the words out before his mouth is on hers, and oh, it's every exquisite feeling in the world to be pulled firmly to him with his other hand carded through her hair and his strong body warm against hers, to hold him, to be held by him. He kisses her until stars burst in her heart and her lungs and her fingertips.

"Love you so much it hurts. Didn't know what I was gonna do," he mumbles against her mouth, and she feels her soul lift off and take flight.

He takes her hand in his and lifts it to his lips so that he can kiss the soft inside of her wrist—the base of her palm—her curled fingers. His tongue flicks out to touch his lower lip and lightning quick his smile becomes a grin.

"The jam _is_ good. You say you brought me a jar?"

"Charlie's probably ate it by now," she murmurs. She wonders how she's going to manage to walk back to the house; her legs morph into jelly every time he smiles.

He says, with purpose: "Yes."

"What?"

"It's the answer to the question you ain't asked me yet. I'm practicin' for whenever you do get around to it."

"Will you have me, F. Will Darcy? I never did find out what the F. stands for."

"And you never will."

"Charlie'll tell me," she says. "I'll bribe him with blackberry preserves."

He leans forward and kisses her again, which causes her soul, which was stretching out of her body toward him like a magnet, to sink back down and purr in satisfaction. He doesn't release her until she can hardly remember her own name. She has to lean her head against his collarbone until the edges of the world start to take shape again.

He says into her ear, "How fast can you make a bridal trousseau? I heard your sister tell Charlie it'll take her six weeks."

She looks up. There is a small piece of hay in his hair; she removes it, and threads her fingers through the dark curls at his temple for good measure. "That's because Jane's been working on her trousseau since she turned fourteen. Yours truly ain't been _quite_ so diligent. Finishin' mine will take the better part of a year."

He pales. "A year?"

"Cryin' shame, ain't it?" She shakes her head. "The three items the law requires for us to get hitched is a parson, a witness, and a completed weddin' trousseau."

-

He is there at dawn to fetch her. The world is soft and cool and pale. A few straggling insect members of the night symphony valiantly refuse to give way to the earliest risers of the morning chorus.

"I didn't sleep a wink," he says, handing her into the surrey and tossing her portmanteau into the rear seat. Charlie hands Jane into the buggy behind them.

"Me either." Elizabeth clutches the bouquet of wildflowers he handed her—a pretty arrangement sent along by Georgia. "Hope I didn’t forget my blue scarf. Do you know how hard it is to pack in the pitch dark, and without a sound? There wasn't even any moonlight. If any of my shirts match my skirts I'll call it a miracle. You're lovely and warm, Will. Giddap, little mare. Let's go scare the parson."

Cacophonous birdsong ushers them up the track to the little whitewashed parsonage where they beam at each other over the old familiar holy writ and pledge heartfelt vows of love and faithfulness as read out by a bleary-eyed figure in a plaid nightshirt. The witnesses suppress yawns and embrace all present when the union is pronounced complete.

"Are you in trouble?" the parson's wife hisses. She and Elizabeth are standing across the room from the group gathered around the marriage register.

"No, Charlotte."

"Drunk?"

Will chances to glance over at her just then. He looks at her for a long moment, then smiles at her—a possessive, intimate thing that sets butterflies loose in her stomach. She says, "Close enough."

-

Jane and Charlie go ahead of them; they have been commissioned to stop back at the Bennet farm to calm the certain uproar that Elizabeth’s note has wrought, as well as collect the surplus family members who have been assuredly called in for support. Georgia stayed back at the ranch to set up the wedding breakfast, which worried Elizabeth, who felt she ought to be included in the small party of witnesses, but Will assured her it was his sister’s preference to do this for them instead. “This is how she loves,” he said, to which she had voiced a wish that her family were of a like mind. Forgiveness won’t be quick coming over this elopement—less over distaste for the groom and more over the notion that all associated parties were cheated of an extravagant celebration—but Elizabeth had been adamant. “No fuss.”

Will agreed. “We'll leave the fuss to Jane and Charlie.”

“Yes. They're much nicer than you an’ me; they deserve to be fussed over.”

They hadn’t mentioned the obvious: that if any member of the Bennet family had gotten even a whiff of the pending nuptials, there would have been firm insistence on a real wedding, complete with full trousseau and bridesmaids’ dresses and French wine, and they wouldn’t have made it to the altar for another six months. A substitute wedding breakfast will have to suffice.

The morning is fresh and carries the promise of mild breezes. Huge swells of pure-white clouds are cut out against the brilliant azure sky. The trees are turning yellow; some have already gone red at the edges. It is the most beautiful day in the history of the world.

Elizabeth resumes a game she started on the drive in: seeing how erratic she can cause Will's driving to become by peppering feather-soft kisses along his jaw. It isn't until he reins in the horses with a growl and turns on her with sparks in his eyes that she realizes the game has become rather dangerous.

Later, disheveled and glowing, she reflects that it will be some time, if ever, before she considers the hard ground and buzzing insects of any particular grassy hollow in the same old way; nor will the view of the partially-translucent underside of the changing leaves ever again be as meaningless as it has heretofore been. She folds the blanket, the one finished piece in her trousseau: a quilt she made with the then-minister’s wife when she was twelve years old. “Little did I ever dream,” she pretends to scold Will, who wraps his arms around her waist from behind and smiles against her cheekbone.

The sun is high and bright as they trundle up the track that runs alongside the endless green pastures of the Darcy ranch. Hands emerge from the barn when they hear the approaching wheels. They clap and wave their handkerchiefs, whooping as the newlyweds drive up. Their faces are wreathed in glad, welcoming smiles; they pump his hand and tip their hats to her. Then they vanish to put up the horses and buggy and finish setting up the long breakfast table beneath the old oak tree that shields the far side of the main barn.

Will's hand on the small of her back leads her up the porch steps. They step out of the bright hot sunshine into the coolness of the house. He kisses her neck below her ear. “Welcome home.”

She can see the green of his eyes even as hers adjust to the light. He is so handsome she is breathless. The sharp cut of his jaw, the integrity woven through his soul, the caresses and generosity of his open hands: she can hardly believe he is hers.

He tenses suddenly and his eyes dart to something behind her.

A muffled whimper sounds from a few feet away. Elizabeth turns in alarm. Her still-adjusting eyes slowly take in a figure on the floor: Georgia, trussed up and lying on her side, her wide brown eyes fixed on them. Reclining in an armchair beside her, the mouth of his revolver inches from her temple, is George Wickham.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: "How would an Old West Pride & Prejudice end?"  
> most mild-mannered peacemaker friend: "A bloody battle."  
> this one's for you, m.

George tips his head back to survey the newcomers. Lassitude warms his voice but his eyes are hard. "There he is. The life ruiner."

Will seems to grow three sizes bigger; he pushes Elizabeth behind him, blocking her from George's view. His voice is hoarse with fury. "Hurt a hair, _a hair_ of her head and I'll send you straight to hell."

"I reckon you outghta stop movin'," George says, pressing the revolver mouth hard against Georgia's skin. "Now. Lizzy Bennet. Come on out here where I can see your pretty face."

"She ain't doin' none of your biddin'."

"She will if she knows what's good for anybody."

Elizabeth steps around her husband, running a light hand over his arm as she does. Even without touching, she can feel him, tense and dangerous as a cornered wildcat.

"Miss me, Miss Lizzy? Must have been bored indeed to make a friend of Stuffed Shirt Darcy. Barrel scrapin' for companionship, is you?"

"It's Mrs. Darcy to you."

He sneers. "You an' him? And here I thought you knew which end is up."

"Happens I do," she says. "No thanks to you."

"Well, that hurts. That does smart somethin' fierce. We been pals."

"You're a good-for-nothin'. A liar. You near destroyed my sister."

"All the same, I'm sorry you'll have to witness this, Miss Lizzy."

"Mrs. Darcy," Will and Elizabeth say in unison.

"I'll be havin' your gun, Will. You can bring it on over here, little wife. Take it from his holster— _slowly_ —I don't need to remind you what's gonna happen if you don't play by my rules, do I? Will knows I'll do it, too; don't you, Will? Unload it—there's a girl, kick them bullets right on over into that corner. Now give it to me. Stay put right there. Round of applause. Didn't you just pick the most talented wife in three counties, Will? I wonder what else she can do."

"What do you want, you lousy sonofabitch?" says Will through his teeth.

George's eyebrows lift as though he's surprised at the question. "I want it all. You ruined my life. Now I'll do you the same favor."

"You outta your mind? I never done a thing to you."

The gunman's eyes take on a red light. "This should be my ranch. I should be runnin' it. Not Reynolds. Not even you."

"You gonna carry off my whole ranch singlehanded?"

"Gonna carry off the land deed and all the stock rights. A weddin' gift, ain't it? From you to your sister, my new bride. There must be somethin' in the water. Folks is gettin' married all over the place."

Will's voice is low and fierce and fast: "Georgia, he make you do or say anything?"

"No—except—he made me promise—"

"You even think of touchin' her and I swear before God I'll rip you to shreds—"

"Back up, rancher!" bellows George, turning his gun with dizzying speed on Elizabeth. The room freezes.

He stands and continues. "You done me the service of bringin' me a spare loved one, for which I heartily thank you. I'll need this one—" he nods to the young woman on the floor, "to keep you in line in the future, but truth told I'd rather not leave here carryin' damaged goods. Mighty good of you to bring me a woman I can _hurt_." He grips Elizabeth's wrist so painfully she cannot help crying out. Will's eyes are wild as a rabid dog on a tether.

"Now you march on over to that safe and take out what documents I said. And then some of us is gonna take a little trip."

Will moves slowly across the room to a small iron box built into the enormous main fireplace. His eyes are in constant motion, checking Elizabeth, Georgia, and Wickham in rotation. "I got people right outside.You think they won't come runnin' at the sound of a gunshot?"

"You want to test? We can. Little wife's got gunpowder and flash a few inches from her insides. Think they can get here fast enough to block it from hittin' anything important? Thought so. You just keep doin' as told. Little sis'll marry me. She knows what'll happen if she gets opinionated about it."

Georgia whispers, "You won't get away with this." He only smiles in response.

Will tries to stall at the safe, Elizabeth can tell, but they can all see that there's hardly anything within, and eking out a few more seconds makes no difference in the end. The workers never enter the house on any given day and especially not today. Her family and Charlie are en route to the ranch but they're a good thirty minutes away at the very least. Will rifles through papers and Elizabeth thinks desperately of a way to disarm George without getting everyone shot and the clock on the mantel serenely ticks down to whatever awful thing is going to happen next.

Her husband circles back, a sheaf of papers in his fist. George falters but rallies. He has clearly never seen a legal document involving property. "Sit right down there and put my name on all of 'em."

"Georgia's name, you mean."

" _Mine_ I mean. On the floor, ranch-man. I wanna see what you're writin'."

Will eyes the finger on the trigger of the gun jabbing into Elizabeth's ribs and complies. The room is silent except for the scratch of his writing. Outside there is no sound of anything, not wagon wheels, not men singing at their work, not even prairie wind.

From his seat on the floor, Will collects the papers and hands them to George.

"Hold 'em up, one by one. Let me see the name."

Will sets his teeth but does as ordered. When finished, George indicates Elizabeth. "Give 'em to her an' back away." Eyes tracking Will, finger on the trigger, he commands Elizabeth to put the papers in his inner waistcoat pocket. She sets her teeth and obeys.

"Georgia-doll, bring me my hat you knocked off."

He fusses over the placement of the hat, making jokes about the trials and tribulations of having to arrange it with the wrong hand. His audience glares. He pats his coat over the spot where the papers are tucked.

"Well, I think that's about it. You all might be interested to know that I already run the gunshot test. Just this morning, in fact, when all them were out there—readyin' for your party, I know now, and I'm so sorry to miss the celebration, we'll be havin' one of our own though so I do hope you'll spare us a thought—anyhow, when all them were out there messin' about, I done shot a dog. Right there by that big tree. Nobody came runnin'. That's when I had to interrupt sweet little sister here. Fixin' flapjacks, she was. They'll be burned up now, I reckon. Now. I expect you'll be hankerin' to chase after us. That won't do at all. Best slow you down, I'm thinkin'."

He raises the revolver and shoots Will in the chest—once—twice.

Elizabeth screams and lunges for the gun; Georgia lunges for the gunman's knees. Thrown off balance, the revolver fires a third time, hitting nothing Elizabeth can see, before misfiring on the fourth shot. George pulls the trigger again, but this time it jams.

George grips Elizabeth by the throat and hurls her away from him; she is thrown back against a table, knocking it over as she goes down. He kicks Georgia and swears violently, then hefts the gun and strikes her on the head; she drops to the floor like an inanimate marionette.

Will, who bent double when shot, reaches for his sister; he staggers and falls to his knees, trying to hold himself up with one arm. He crawls away across the room as George swears again, a steady stream of filth flowing forth as he attempts to fix his weapon.

The oxygen that was knocked from Elizabeth's body inflates it again. She lifts her head and searches for her husband. "Elizabeth," he grunts. He is leaning against a chaise.

She scrambles across the floor to him. " _Will_ —"

He is breathing hard, clutching his chest. Sweat stands out on his forehead. He nods at something across the room with his head. His voice is barely audible. "Mine."

"But—"

"Stop him first." A convulsion seizes his chest. "Hurry."

Every drop of blood in her body screams to stay close to Will, to carry him to safety, to staunch the red that is liquefying his shirt, to kiss him while she still can, but she knows as soon as George gets his gun working everything will get worse, so she turns her back on her husband and stumble-crawls toward the corner of the room where she kicked the bullets discarded from Will's gun.

The only light in the room comes from the curtained windows and the slightly open front door. The corner is dark and the cartridges are rendered invisible, wherever they are. Elizabeth feels her way over the planks. From her vantage on the floor, she can see Georgia on the other side of the room. A patch of blood stands out on her temple, but she is unmistakably awake. She is on her knees just behind George's line of vision and she is stealthily reaching for the gun George confiscated from Will, which he tucked into his waistband at the small of his back.

The revolver is well and truly jammed. Fixing it will take more than the ineffective jabs of human fingers. George's face melts into an ugly, furious mask. Georgia sinks back down to the floor just before his attention returns to her.

He bends and slaps her. "Get up." Fast as a blink, she's up, reaching for Will's gun, grabbing it, hurling it away. It spins across the floor and Elizabeth scrambles for it.

Startled, then furious, George grips Georgia's arm and raises the hand still holding his revolver, preparing to swing down the heavy handle down against her head, when Will launches across the room like a cannonball.

He hits him squarely in the chest. The men stumble back and collide with the wall, wrestling for the upper hand. Will punches George in the jaw. George manages to shake him loose and charges him again, trying to land a blow on Will's bullet wounds. Will grabs him by the shoulders but agonizing pain sweeps over his face from the effort; he loses the offensive stance almost immediately, and George tackles him. They roll across the floor, crashing into furniture, boots kicking loudly against the floorboards. Will manages to heave George all the way over him; the other man lands hard on his back. Will, gasping for breath, punches George in the jaw. He raises his arm to deliver another hit and is met with George's knife, which the once-gunman has finally managed to pull from the sheath at his belt. The blade slices across the softer underside of Will's forearm and the rancher falls back with a yell.

Elizabeth's finger touches cold rounded metal.

George is on his feet in an instant. His eyes have shifted into red wildness; whatever his original plan, it's clear he won't leave this house until Will is dead, and probably Elizabeth too. He stands between everyone and the front door, and close enough to Georgia to keep her from running toward the kitchen. Knife ready, he moves toward Will.

Elizabeth's shaking fingers try once, twice, three times to load the chamber. She drops the bullet. It skids away into the darkness by her knees.

Will grabs a vase off a low table and hurls it at George's head. It strikes true, causing him to clutch his head in pain, but hardly slows him down. Georgia calls to her brother: "The clock!" Will turns and seizes the small marble-set timepiece positioned on the writing desk near his elbow. He hefts it and charges at George, hand raised to strike him with his makeshift weapon.

George is quicker than the poorly-armed, pain-impaired man rushing at him. He meets Will with another knife slash, grabs his arm, unbalances him with a kick around the legs and brings him down with a crash. The knife flashes through the air like a living thing. It is momentarily deterred by Georgia, who is picking up anything she can get her hands on—books, baskets, a lantern—and throwing them at him.

George's fighting blood lends him the strength of five men. His knife-arm holds down Will, whose lifeblood coats his hands, and grabs a throwing knife from his belt, which he hurls at Georgia. It slices through the air and catches her by the arm, pinning her sleeve to the wall. The blade buries itself deep in the wood and is difficult to dislodge one-handed; the fabric of her sleeve is thick and doesn't tear. She tries ineffectually to free herself.

Elizabeth is crying in frustration and fear. Her fingertips sweep over the floor around where she heard the bullet fall.

George punches Will in the face for good measure. He hauls him upward by his hair, shifting so that the injured man's head is bent back against his chest, and yanks his head further back to expose his throat.

_There._

One bullet. One chance. Fingers flying, Elizabeth clicks the cylinder back into place and pushes down the hammer.

George adjusts his grip on his knife and raises it to Will's throat.

"Lizzy, now!" screams Georgia.

George presses his knifeblade to the skin under Will's jaw.

Elizabeth sights down the barrel and fires.

-

"I miss all the fun," moans Lyddie. "I never get to see anythin' interestin' or do anythin' interestin' or go anyplace interestin'. Why couldn't I have been here instead of Georgia?"

Elizabeth says, "Last I heard, you make your own sort of fun."

"How dare you," Lyddie says without heat, then shouts, "Mary, and just what do you think you're doin' takin' down that table dressin'?"

"Will's all shot up. This ain't no time for a celebration."

"He's shot in the heart, not in the stomach. He can still eat. Anyways, _we're_ all here." Lyddie bounds off the porch and makes a beeline for the distant table, determined by hook or by crook to have a party.

"He ain't shot in the heart neither," says Reynolds, knotting off the black string and inspecting his row of stitches critically. "Though it ain't for lack of tryin'. That scoundrel. Gon' be a while before this shoulder of yours is workin', boss."

Will's eyes are closed. He nods his understanding.

A makeshift clinic has been set up on the shade of the porch. Elizabeth sits beside her husband, wiping away the blood while Reynolds works. Her family and the ranch hands are busy inside and out, cleaning up the blood-stained floor and doing their best to either set up or clean up the wedding breakfast. The Bennets and Charlie drove up mere minutes after George was shot, laden with food, chattering: "What did we miss?"

The ranch hands riding in from one of the far paddocks shout a question to the porch. Reynolds excuses himself and steps away. Will says, "Has Charlie stopped boo-hooin'?"

"I think so. Him cryin' set off Jane like a waterfall and now he's distracted tryin' to calm her down."

The horror of what almost happened is striking all of them at different speeds. Elizabeth is externally calm; her entire focus has been on extracting the bullets from Will's shoulder and right pectoral. Internally, the morning keeps churning past like she's reviewing it from a train window: the excitement of the ride to the parsonage, his voice saying vows with her name in them, the bright piercing beauty of the dawn, his hands warm on her skin, the shine of George's revolver and the initial jolt of fear, the cold terror and uncertainty that followed—a blur in the moment, eternal from where she stands now, like falling down an endless mineshaft. Her mind simultaneously chants a constant litany of heaven-directed gratitude.

His hand in hers is warm again, to her immense relief. In the house it was cold and clammy and he was a frightening shade of gray. He has scarcely let go of her since the gunshot that ended it all.

"Shoulda never brought her here. Shoulda got you outta there."

"Shoulda checked your crystal ball and read the future. Hush. We're all safe and no real harm done except to him as would have brought it on us." Her words catch in her throat. She can still see the bullets hit Will every time she closes her eyes, and sometimes when they aren't closed too.

He looks at her. "Scared you good, huh? That's a bang up wedding present." He lifts his hand, still holding hers, to skim his thumb over her cheek. "How's it feeling?"

Soon she will lose count of how many times he has checked on her like this. How is it feeling, having just killed someone? Will has never killed anyone but he's seen it happen, knows how it stays with a person. She surveys herself again. No guilt, no remorse. Sorrow for George's end, maybe, for who she wishes he would have been and might have become with time—while there's life there's hope, doesn't the saying go? And Elizabeth was born hopeful. But he made choices that left her none and now he's dead because of it. She can't be sad she stopped him. She can't regret ending the life of the would-be murderer of the man she loves. She can't help weighing their worth against each other. She isn't the eternal judge, but for her own self, in her own judgment of her self, which has value and legitimacy of its own kind, she did right. She kisses Will's palm at the base of his thumb.

His eyes hold hers, close briefly, then open again to skim over the distant green hills.

"You're gonna be an awful invalid, ain't you. I'm gonna spend all my time tryin' to keep you off your horse."

"Well, I sure ain't gonna lay around playin' gin rummy."

"I'll have to keep you too full of pie to move. You're gonna be fat as a pony by the time you're fit to work again."

His eyes return to hers. "I got a few other ideas for what we might do."

Footsteps herald the arrival of Mrs. Bennet. She inspects the stitches and clucks her tongue. "Hope you like gin rummy," she tells them. She hands Will a bowl of nearly clear liquid: a curative broth that will comprise the bulk of his diet until he is fully healed. He receives it with an expression of consternation. Elizabeth cannot help laughing.

Sunshine breaks through the cracks of the leaves adorning the nearest oak and sets his hair shining. His eyes are bright and green and are watching her smile. An unconscious smile of his own curves his mouth.

"Five-card draw it is," she says, and leans over to kiss him.


End file.
